


With Every Breath and Heartbeat

by Cayran



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley love each other, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Mortality Issues, Protective Crowley, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Whump, getting help from the anti-christ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cayran/pseuds/Cayran
Summary: After a sudden and unfortunate encounter with a rouge demon from Hell, Crowley and Aziraphale come to find out that some things weren't returned to it's normal state after Adam reversed the Apocalypse.





	1. Something in the Woods

Things were different. Ever since the failed apocalypse - even if the world had been set right by the young antichrist - their lives, their expectations, their priorities...everything was different. 

Well, not  _ everything _ was different. _ Everything _ would have been a stretch. Certain habits and routines remained the same. Crowley and Aziraphale kept up with their usual meetings and outings, albeit they spent less and less time away from each other and found more reasons to meet up, even if it was for a quick bite to eat or a casual stroll through Soho. 

Today was no different. 

It had been three whole months since the apocalypse that wasn’t, and a certain angel and demon sat side by side on a bench in St. James’s Park. There was no real reason for them to remain apart, in fact, without having so much as heard a whisper from their respective sides since their failed trials, both were seemingly far more comfortable openly fraternizing. Though fraternizing wasn’t the correct term anymore, they supposed. If either mulled it over (which both most certainly had), they were undoubtedly something else. Companions? Friends? Partners? 

Whatever they were,  _ fraternizing _ was not it. To fraternize meant to to form a friendship with the enemy, and they were anything BUT enemies. Truthfully, they had never  _ been _ enemies, but now as they sat together, cold settling in their bones as autumn leaves rustled against fine leather of their shoes, they were open to accept whatever relationship that had formed between them. 

Rubbing his hands together, Crowley brought them up to his mouth and breathed warmth into the spindly digits, his golden eyes casting a dim glow against the curve of his cheeks. 

“Do you think Adam reversed the effects of global warming when he reset the earth, angel?” Crowley spared Aziraphale a glance, hands tucking under his armpits. “Because I am sure that it isn’t supposed to be this bloody cold in early October. November, sure, but October?  _ Nah. _ Bit nippy if you ask me.” 

Aziraphale smiled, blue eyes casually giving his friend a once over before reaching into the pocket of his coat to pull out an extra pair of gloves. He offered them to the demon as if he had all but predicted this would happen, and chuckled when Crowley snatched them from him with a mumbled curse. 

“It is entirely possible, my dear. I wouldn’t put it past the boy,” Aziraphale said, his hands folded comfortably over the curve of his belly as he lounged against the bench in a fashion he wasn’t entirely accustomed too. He supposed Crowley had rubbed off on him, maybe a little. 

“I believe Anathema did give him some environmentalist magazines and novels prior to the apocalypse. He seems to be rather passionate about the preservation of the environment, and has all but convinced his parents to...what is the term again?” The angel pondered momentarily before recognition dawned on his cherubic face. 

“Ah yes,  _ go green _ . That’s it.” 

“And that’s great!” Crowley exclaimed, drawing his hands out of their cavern of warmth long enough to gesture wildly. “Love the environment! Big environment fan, me. But it is the first of October and I can barely feel my toes, angel! The leaves aren’t even done falling and you’re practically wearing a winter coat! It isn’t natural, ‘Ziraphale. Been on this planet for over six thousand years and if I wanted to freeze m’scales off, I would’ve settled in Russia or Greenland, not London.” 

“Well,” Aziraphale pursed his lips, a light breeze ruffling his feathery white hair, “the weather has always been rather unpredictable but I’m sure it is just a cold front, Crowley. It’ll regulate in the next day or two.”

“Doubt it…”Crowley mumbled under his breath, looking positively miserable. 

Aziraphale on the other hand loved this kind of weather. He was an angel that exuded warmth in every sense of the word. Autumn was the season of hot cocoa, tartan scarves and bright, crisp mornings. Even the air gave off a healthy glow during this time of year, no longer plagued by the muggy, stifling heat of summer. This was  _ his _ time, and he positively glowed with contentment. He couldn’t say the same for Crowley, and sighed as he regarded the demon fondly. 

“Might I suggest popping over to the nearest cafe for a warm cup of coffee?” Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t a tea drinker. “Might warm you up a bit.” 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Crowley pushed himself off the bench and settled his glasses across his nose. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his jeans while he offered the other to Aziraphale who graciously took it as he stood. Though, as soon as the angel found his footing beside Crowley, he pulled away, fingers tingling from the brief brush of contact. They were still working out the whole concept of physical displays of affection - both worried about overstepping boundaries with the other. 

Nevertheless, as the angel and demon strolled through the park, elbows brushed and skittish eyes met, though neither said a word. Neither commented on the blush blooming under Aziraphale’s plump cheeks as they walked side by side, nor the casual splay of fingers against the curve of the angel’s lower back, feathery and light. After six thousand years of hesitation and fear of reprimation, it was all they could manage for the time being. 

“I do so hope they have pastries,” Aziraphale commented, breaking the silence between them. 

“I’m sure they do,” Crowley replied, glancing up at the trees, pretending to admire the seasonal foliage. “When have we ever gone to a cafe that  _ didn’t  _ have pastries of some sort, angel? I don’t think one exists.” 

“Well you never know, dear. I’m certainly peckish though…”

“When are you not peck…” Crowley abruptly stopped, holding out an arm to stop Aziraphale. His body went rigid, silence surrounding them save for the mingle of their breaths. 

“Crowley! What in the world?” 

“Hush!” Crowley snapped back, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t move. Be quiet.” 

Aziraphale gulped, a hand coming up to grab at the fabric at Crowley’s elbow. Whatever Crowley sensed, Aziraphale could not. He assumed that whatever it was wasn’t divine, otherwise, he would have picked up on it by now. He took a timid step closer to the demon, eyes wide in an attempt to spot whatever or _ whomever _ it was that caused his friend such alarm. 

Crowley remained poised and positioned himself slightly in front of the angel, his arm still splayed protectively to keep Aziraphale from moving. His nostrils flared and his forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. 

“We’re not alone,” he whispered, eyes not leaving the shadowy path. “We’re being watched.” 

“By who?” 

“Don’ know,” Crowley replied, the foul scent of the stranger weighing heavy on his tongue. “Whomever it is is  _ not _ human.” 

Aziraphale’s jaw clenched, worry causing tiny beads of sweat to tickle his hairline. The temptation of warm coffee and pastries were long forgotten as the pair stood off with a seemingly invisible force. 

“If it was celestial, I’d know,” Aziraphale breathed, holding fast to Crowley’s jacket. 

“It isn’t. Far from it.” Crowley was short in his reply. He moved carefully, motioning for Aziraphale to step back. “We need to turn around. Come angel, _ quickly _ .” Crowley all but shoved Aziraphale, ushering him back down the path they came. He prayed to whomever was listening that whatever it was wouldn’t follow, though he almost suspected they’d not have such luck. 

“Crowley, would you  _ please _ talk to me? What is going on?” Aziraphale moved quickly, trying to match the long-legged pace of his companion. Crowley was all but half dragging him along the deserted sidewalk, his grip tight on the angel’s arm. 

“Not now,” Crowley barked, amber eyes frantically surveying their surroundings. 

“But I need to know -” Aziraphale never got to finish. The wind was knocked out of him as he found himself face first on the sidewalk, the warmth of Crowley’s hand no longer present on his bicep. Aziraphale groaned, ignoring the ache as he began to push himself up onto his hands. His blue eyes blinked in the darkness, a hand reaching out blindly to feel for the demon who  _ should _ have landed beside him. 

“Crowley?” The angel coughed, his ears ringing from the harsh impact. 

In response, a loud, blood curdling scream rattled his ear drums. Aziraphale felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach, his blood running cold. He knew that voice. 

“CROWLEY!!”


	2. Naaldlooshii

Crowley was no stranger to pain. Occult or not, human corporations were delicate things plagued by minor inconveniences such as stumped toes and paper cuts to more serious matters such as bleeding out and death. Thankfully, he hadn’t experienced the latter; however, as he lay on the cold ground, black blood seeping sluggishly from his upper thigh, he became very well aware that this creature - this  _ demon _ could make discorporation a reality for him. 

He couldn’t let that happen. 

It was no secret that Crowley wasn’t on good terms with Hell. In fact, based on what Aziraphale had told him, Hell had all but banished him in fear of the abnormality that he had become. They feared what they couldn’t understand (even if it had been a trick), and if they weren’t able to kill him, their next best option was to make sure Crowley stayed  _ away. _

Meaning, if he was discorporated, Crowley knew the likelihood of getting a replacement body was slim to none. Even if they didn’t want him stepping foot into the nine realms again, they wouldn’t make the effort to replace his corporation. Whatever was left of him would be shunned to the celestial plain, or purgatory. He’d never see Aziraphale again.

_ Aziraphale.  _

Where was Aziraphale? Surely, he wasn’t far. He sense him, but the blood pounding in his ears made it difficult to even lift his head. Oh God,  _ please _ ....

Grunting, Crowley began to crawl. His nails, now sharpened into claws dug into the hardened soil as he propelled himself forward. His sudden fear for the safety of his friend had dulled the pain in his leg, though he didn’t make far. As his fingers scraped against the concrete, something purposefully lodged itself into the weeping wound in his leg, and a harsh, guttural cry tore past Crowley’s pale lips. Pain rippled through his body and he could do nothing but ignore the desperate, nearby call of his name. 

“Not so fast,  _ Crawly. _ ” The words oozed like venom from the demon’s mouth, it’s fingers pressing harder into Crowley’s trembling leg. “Your little friend can wait.” 

Crowley screamed again, teeth grinding together. He knew that voice.  _ “Naaldlooshii…” _

Crowley hissed, head turning to regard the other demon with a pointed glare. “What the _ fuck _ .” 

Naaldlooshii smiled, her perfectly placed teeth glinting in the moonlight. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the base of her skull, brown eyes impossibly wide as she stared down at Crowley. Her tan skin was without a blemish or scar, and had it not been for the slight point of her ears and her pointed canines, she’d pass as a rather attractive mortal. 

Though, in Naaldlooshi’s case, looks  _ were  _ deceiving. 

“Oh Crawly, rumor has it that you’re  _ special _ ,” she cooed, running a finger along his jawline in a display of mock affection. “That holy water can’t touch you - that you’re  _ invincible _ .” She withdrew her finger from his leg only to reinsert it harshly, causing Crowley to cry out again. Her smile only widened, and her long tongue flicked out to lick away a stray tear from Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley jerked away from her, eyes wild a furious. “Get your hands off me, Naal! Surely that isn’t the  _ only _ rumor your heard,” he spat, his own fangs pushing past his lips in a threat. 

“Surely you also heard that I am to be left alone,yes? Hell isn’t supposed to  _ touch _ me.” Fangs be damned, Crowley’s lips pulled back into a tight smirk. “That’s no rumor. That’s a _ fact _ .” He emphasized the _“t.” _

Distaste briefly flashed across Naal’s face, though her smile remained present if somewhat deflated. 

“Yes well, you know I’ve always had issues with authority. I don’t like being told what I can and can’t do.” She released his leg only to swiftly clamp down on his neck. She jerked him forward so that their noses were only inches apart. 

“Besides, Hell hasn’t done a good job at keeping tabs on me. I spent  _ hundreds _ of years terrorizing the Navajo at my leisure, and I never so much as got a slap on the hand.” Naal grinned, her nose brushing against his seductively. 

Crowley recalled hearing stories of “skinwalkers” tormenting the Navajo back in the 1700s, though if Naal had been any part of that, there was no doubt in his mind that it had been happening over a vast period of time. Naaldlooshii was a horrid,  _ despicable _ creature - a demon who took pleasure in the pain and suffering of humans. From what Crowley knew of her, he was surprised she had ever been an angel at all. 

Though, there were so many demons that hardly retained any trace of their angelic selves  _ at all _ . Crowley supposed he credited his good nature and grace to Aziraphale. Had he never met the angel, he honestly had no clue how he would’ve turned out. He shuddered at the thought. 

Naal’s fingers clenched around his throat, burning his skin. Crowley hissed and pulled his face away from hers, fighting against her grip. He detested her touch, eyes burning with hatred and disgust. 

“What the hell do you want?” He spat. 

“Well…” Naal exhaled, her breath putrid like a festering rot. “Seeing as I wasn’t present in Hell the day of your trial, and therefore didn’t witness anything said between you and Lord Beelzebub, I figured I couldn’t  _ really _ be punished for killing you. I’d be an oblivious party.”

She reached out to stroke him, though she quickly retracted her hand when Crowley snapped his teeth at her. She wiggled a finger at him. 

“With you dead, who is to say who actually started our little altercation? One could  _ assume  _ that you attacked me, after all.” Naal swung a leg over him, straddling his hips. A third eye manifested on her forehead, and her smooth skin began to peel away, revealing layers of black. 

“They wouldn’t be able to punish me had I not  _ known _ of your protection and banishment.” She feigned innocence, the brown of her eyes seeping red. Crowley snarled and jerked again, trying desperately to free himself; however, Naal’s hand held him firmly in place. 

“And with you gone,” she continued, her body slowly morphing, “I’d not be surprised if Hell gave me a promotion. I’d make a fine  _ Duke _ , don’t you think?” 

Her smile spread, abnormally so, and all remnants of her human disguise began slipping away. Her bones began to shift and  _ pop  _ as her spine elongated, long black appendages sprouting from her hips and spine. Her clothing ripped and black tainted the edges of her face, red eyes now glowing in the dark. Her fangs dripped with  _ poison _ \- two large ivory tusks growing past the point of her chin. As Naal morphed into her true form, Crowley realized that it was no wonder that the Native Americans had been terrified of her. He himself was a shapeshifter and a serpent at heart, but he never believed himself to be this  _ terrifying _ . 

“Please don’t take it personally, Crawly…”

“Its Crowley, you  _ bitch _ !” 

Naal rolled all six of her eyes. “Fine, Crowley,  _ whatever _ . I hold no ill feelings towards you, you know,” she said, licking her lips. “It's just… sometimes you have to do things you don’t  _ want _ to do in order to move up in the world, and it is high time I get a little recognition.” 

Crowley continued to squirm under her hand, and his eyes widened in alarm as a single black leg, long and sharpened to a point, raised and positioned itself a few meer inches from his heart. 

“Farewell, dear brother,” Naal murmured, giving Crowley a look of sympathy; however, as her leg raised higher, her face hardened. 

Crowley held his breath, bracing for impact. This wasn’t the death he had imagined for himself. In fact, in the past three months, Crowley had felt invincible. He had let his guard down - no longer worried about the forces of Heaven  _ or _ Hell coming for him or Aziraphale. How utterly and completely wrong he had been. He should have known better. There were always rule breakers,  _ especially _ in Hell. He just...well...he never expected  _ this.  _

He hoped that wherever Aziraphale was, he was safe. He hoped the angel kept running, eyes forward and never looking back. Aziraphale didn’t need to witness this, let alone be any part of it. He deserved better. So much better. If Crowley was to die here and now, he hoped that the angel... _ his _ angel, lived the rest of eternity in peace and contentment. It would be enough. Crowley would die a thousand deaths if it meant Aziraphale was left alone. 

With his thoughts on the angel, Crowley’s eyes closed, accepting his fate. He waited for the stab of pain - to feel the blood gush from his chest; however, five seconds passed, then ten, and nothing happened. He heard a sharp  _ gasp _ above him, and opened his eyes cautiously. 

What he saw wasn’t what he had expected. 

Still positioned above him was Naaldlooshii with a long wooden rod protruding from her right shoulder. At the base of said rod was Aziraphale, face pale and hands shaking from the sheer force of impaling the giant arachnid. 

Shock resonated on Naal’s face. Her mouth fail agape in a silent scream before she clawed at the stake, crawling and stumbling off Crowley. Her legs curled and uncurled beneath her clumsily, and as soon as Crowley was completely free of her, he crawled away, adrenaline masking the pain in his leg. 

“You little _ bastard! _ ” She screeched, swinging an arm back to backhand Aziraphale hard across the face. “I’ll kill you, principality! I’ll  _ kill  _ you, then I’ll mount your fucking wings on my wall!!” 

She reached for Aziraphale as he stumbled, clawing at his jacket in blind rage. She managed to grab a fistfull of the fabric, ripping it as she dragged the shell-shocked angel towards her. 

“Let go of him!” Crowley bellowed, claws digging into the curve of her back. He quickly miracled a knife and lodged it just below her ribcage, which caused her to squeal and lose her grip on the angel. She reached back, blood now seeping past her lips and grabbed hold of Crowley, slamming him down against the concrete with a sickening  _ crack.  _ Pain split his skull and breath was forced from his lungs. He couldn’t see...oh  _ fuck  _ he couldn’t see. He tried to move, but another wave of pain shot up his spine, causing him to roll onto his side with a moan. 

“I’ll be back for you,” Naal promised, spitting blood onto the sidewalk. 

Crowley’s mouth tasted metallic and he coughed, black ichor painting his lips. He felt Naaldlooshii shuffle past him, and a wet, wheezing sob escaped his throat. He couldn’t move. 

_ But Aziraphale _ . He had to get to Aziraphale. 

Naal continued to ignore him. His feeble attempts to get up were hardly a threat to her. Rather, her eyes now turned to the principality who was desperately trying to get to Crowley. Aziraphale’s eyes moved from Crowley to the other demon and back to Crowley, his face split between worry and utter  _ rage _ . He shoved away any ounce of fear that remained, and launched himself at Naal, white wings arching in a threat. 

Aziraphale swooped down, barely missing a jab from one of her pointed legs and planted his feet against her back. Dodging another grab from her, her took hold of the rod and jerked it out only to shove it through her spine with the fluidity and ease of a battle worn soldier.

It should be mentioned that Aziraphale was soft by choice. He  _ wanted  _ the plumpness and the fair skin. Most had forgotten exactly  _ what _ he was. He had been a soldier; a leader of a platoon. He knew how to properly hold a sword, and he knew what it was like to fight in a war. But, principalities weren’t typically known for gentle words or soft bodies, though Aziraphale had always been somewhat of a rebel. He never had fit the status quo. The archangels  _ detested  _ him, and if the remaining forces of Heaven weren’t wary of him prior to the failed apocalypse, they were now. 

Nevertheless, despite everything, Aziraphale retained his title and grace, and he shoved the stake even further into the spine of Naaldlooshii, relishing in her inhuman scream. 

“You’re going to leave Crowley alone,” Aziraphale left no room for argument. He twisted the rod torturously. “You’re going to crawl back into whatever hole you squirmed out of and never,  _ ever _ touch him again.” 

Naal growled, her teeth stained red and dripping. 

“Do you hear me?” The angel remained calm - dangerous. 

With a snarl, Naal nodded sharply, refusing to meet the angel’s gaze. 

“Say it.” 

“ _ Yeesss _ …” she slurred, body trembling under the strain of her injuries. 

Satisfied, Aziraphale dismounted, jerking the rod out of the aracnid’s spine effortlessly. The rod clattered against the ground, dripping. Aziraphale moved swiftly over to Crowley’s side, moving a hand over the indention in his skull. He gulped, eyes frantically scanning the rest of Crowley’s battered form. 

“Hold on dear, just hold on. I’ll fix you up…” 

Crowley could only groan, fingers grasping Aziraphale’s wrist like an anchor. The angel touched his head, the bones mending and the gash fading, and suddenly Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. The pain wasn’t _ completely  _ gone, but he was no longer blinded by blood nor under the assumption that his head would explode under the sheer pulse of his brain. He smiled, feeling the gentle fingers in his hair, stroking and scratching his scalp affectionately. 

“Oh Crowley, I was so worried.” Aziraphale was shaking, his skin flushed and heart hammering in his chest. He hadn’t known the extensiveness of Crowley’s wounds - he had just prayed that he would be able to fix them. Healing was in his nature, and while his and Crowley’s magic didn’t mix, he could at least tend to the demon’s wounds without causing him further harm. 

“Can you stand? I need to…”Aziraphale blinked, confusion twisting his brow as observed the wide-eyed stare of the demon. 

“Crowley, what’s wrong?” 

No sooner had the question left his lips, Aziraphale found himself being pulled backwards by his legs. He tried to kick himself free, but he felt himself being lifted and then slammed down into the grass - long black fingers constricting his neck. He gagged and  _ choked _ , hands fumbling around Naal’s wrist, desperate for air. She leered down at him, her blood staining his clothing as it dripped from her puncture wounds. 

“Lesson one, angel.  _ Never _ turn your back on a demon.” She cackled, tightening her grip. “We tend to lie.” 

Had he been able to breathe, Aziraphale would have laughed at the irony of the situation. Crowley was a demon - he had never lied to Aziraphale. But, Crowley wasn’t like other demons. He shouldn’t have assumed…

He heard Crowley call his name - heard the shuffle of jeans against asphalt; however, Naal paid the serpent no mind. He’d never make it in time. 

“Lesson two, always go for the _ kill _ .” 

Aziraphale felt himself asphyxiate. He felt the blood rush to his ears, mouth opening and closing in small panicked gasps. With Naal’s hand curled tightly around his neck and her abdomen holding his legs in place, the angel could only claw at her wrist and arm. His nails broke her skin; however, she didn’t budge. He knew it was futile, but he couldn’t  _ not  _ try. 

“Not much longer little angel,  _ sshhhhhhh _ …” she cooed, her free hand coming up to stroke along Aziraphale’s hairline. “It is unfortunate that something so  _ pretty  _ has to die...I can see why Crowley grew attached,  _ but _ ,” she paused, continuing her ministrations, her claws twisting around his curls, “take comfort in the fact that now, you won’t have to watch  _ him _ die.” 

If Aziraphale could have, he would have  _ snarled. _ Hate was not a feeling he was accustomed too, but right then, as his tired eyes met hers, that was all he felt. He wheezed, teeth clenched and body rigid, and his moments grew sluggish. He could feel his body jerk involuntarily, fighting uselessly against her unwavering hold, but as black dots flickered in the corners of his eyes, Aziraphale was only vaguely aware of the black shadow hovering menacingly about Naal’s head. 

She never knew what was coming. 

Jaws, unhinged and deadly snapped around the skinwalker’s neck, and fangs laced with venom pierced her skull. Scales constricted her body, muffling her scream. The giant serpent all but  _ crushed  _ her abdomen and thorax - red blood and green  _ muck _ bubbling from ever visible crevice. Naal didn’t fight. She couldn’t fight. She was dead the second her body was crushed under the sheer pressure of the snake’s hold. Still, the serpent -  _ Crowley _ \- twisted, feeling her neck snap beneath his jaws. 

With a violent  _ hiss _ , venom oozing down the length of her dislocated spine, the serpent released its hold on her, letting her crumble to the ground in a broken heap. 

Crowley watched her discorporation slowly evaporate - her figure crumbling within itself until she was nothing but a fine powder. It took nothing more than a gentle breeze to send her remains scattering - nothing more than dust on the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** The Navajo term for "skinwalker" is Naaldlooshii. From my understanding, they were considered demons by the Navajo people, or evil spirits. They were human-like entities that could shape shift into any animal of their choice. 
> 
> Stay tuned, friends! More drama and angst shall unfold! 
> 
> tumblr- **cayranwilde**  
Discord - **Cayran#8511**
> 
> Feel free to ask me questions or chat! 


	3. Complications

Returned to his human corporation, Crowley lingered long enough to watch the last few specks of black dust get whisked away by the autumn wind before his legs carried him hastily to the side of the prone angel. His knees nearly buckled after the first initial step, black blood still soaking through his black jeans; however, he cared little for his current physical state. All that mattered was the fact that Aziraphale hadn’t gotten up yet. 

“Angel, its over,” he said breathlessly, wincing as each step jarred his body. “Come on, let me help you up.” Crowley offered Aziraphale his hand, though Aziraphale didn’t so much as twitch. Crowley groaned. 

He slowly bent forward, body aching and muscles protesting as his knees touched the concrete. He reached out and gently shook Aziraphale’s shoulder, worry lines creasing his forehead when the angel didn’t respond. 

“Aziraphale, come on, time to get up now,” he shook his shoulder with more urgency. The angel’s head lolled as he was jostled, but his body didn’t respond otherwise.

Crowley felt panic seize his chest, and immediately scanned the angel’s body for any sign of obvious injury. His hands hovered over him frantically, unsure of where to touch or just what to do. 

There was no blood - Crowley could tell that much. There was no puncture wounds, scratches, or gashes. However, the angel’s face was pale, nearly bloodless in color, and while Aziraphale had always been fair skinned, Crowley couldn’t help but notice the sickening tinge of grey that seemed to wash over his friend’s features. Crowley then noted with sinking dread that Aziraphale’s eyes were slightly open, staring unseeingly up at the night sky. There was no life - no recognition behind those stormy blue eyes, and even as Crowley touched his cheek, he got no response. 

“Angel, w...wake up,” Crowley demanded, unsure if it was the cold or fear causing him to stammer. He patted Aziraphale’s face, eyes wide and hands shaking. 

As the angel’s head lolled to the left, Crowley noticed a bruising pattern across Aziraphale’s neck. He quickly fumbled with Aziraphale’s tartan bow tie and shirt collar, pulling the fabric back to better observe the ivory column of his throat. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” he cursed, observing the discoloration made by Naal’s crushing grip. She had all but strangled him. The  _ bitch.  _ He touched the bruises, tracing the pattern left by her fingers and felt his stomach churn. 

Quickly, Crowley brought his hand up and  _ snapped. _ He wasn’t a healer like Aziraphale, but there were certain demonic miracles that he could attempt - healing bruises being one of them. 

However, the bruises didn’t fade. 

He snapped again and again. Still nothing. 

“Damn-it, Aziraphale! Work with me here!” The demon all but snarled, his heart hammering in his chest.

Crowley didn’t understand. Something wasn’t right. The bruises should have vanished. He leaned over the angel, searching for something -  _ anything _ that he could have missed that might lead to an explanation. He even glanced sideways into the celestial plain to catch a glimpse of the bright and blinding essence that  _ was  _ Aziraphale, and while Aziraphale’s celestial form may have been somewhat dimmer than usual, there was no noticeable threat to his celestial body. 

So why were the bruises not vanishing? Why was Aziraphale not _ breathing _ ? 

In the past six thousand years, Crowley knew for a fact that the angel had taken far worse hits than this and picked himself right back up like it was nothing. Aziraphale had even been on the brink of discorporation once during the plagues of Egypt- his body abnormally hot and sweaty with holy light seeping from his pores - but even then the angel had been able to heal himself. Crowley recalled that Aziraphale had been unconscious for a few days after, but never,  _ not once _ , had he ever stopped breathing. 

None of this made sense. 

“Angel, I need you to wake up now, okay? Wake up... _ fix yourself _ . You know I can’t...it would be unwise to… _ ngk _ ,” Crowley tugged at his hair in frustration, eyes now completely masked by the gold of his sclera. 

“ _ Fuck it _ , come on!  _ WAKE UP.  _ This isn’t funny, Zira!” Crowley slapped Aziraphale’s cheek, desperate to elicit some sort of response from the lifeless angel. Still, nothing happened. Aziraphale’s head snapped to the left and stilled, eyes dull and mouth slightly parted. Aziraphale’s normally pink lips were tinged blue, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

Crowley felt like screaming. 

He was running out of options. He felt like the longer he sat here without evoking some sort of response from the angel, the harder it would be to bring Aziraphale back from wherever he was. He just had to get Aziraphale’s corporation to respond. If his celestial form was alright, then the problem was with his physical state. That much he could comprehend. 

A  _ hiss  _ slid past the demon’s lips, resolution settling into his bones. The clock was ticking. If Aziraphale got any bluer, he’d have nothing to work with. 

Growling in both frustration and dread, Crowley ignored the protest of his own physical state and bent down to pinch the angel’s nose and breathe air down his throat. His other hand had already flattened against Aziraphale’s chest, and as soon as he felt Aziraphale’s lungs deflate, Crowley breathed again. 

Contrary to popular belief, Crowley wasn’t a  _ monster _ . He wasn’t even a good demon. He cared too much for the humans, and fought to protect them even when either or _ both _ sides warned against it. He couldn’t recall how many children he had attempted to save during the great flood, nor how many he hid from Pestilence during the plagues. He recalled shielding a crying baby when bombs littered London - it’s parents nowhere to be found - and prevented bullets from taking the lives of several young men hiding in a trench. He valued human life, and hated to watch the light leave their eyes prematurely. It never settled well with him, and over time he learned things - _ techniques _ \- that would help him  _ save _ them when his demonic miracles could not or were not permitted. 

He just hoped these techniques could and _ would _ save his friend. 

After the second breath, Crowley fisted his palms against Aziraphale’s breastbone and began compressions. He felt the angel’s ribs  _ groan _ in protest with each thrust, his body twitching under the sheer force of it. It nearly made Cowley sick. 

But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. He needed to keep  _ trying. _

He continued until he lost count, pausing only to place his ear against Aziraphale’s chest, listening with baited breath. A second passed, then two, but there was still nothing. No heartbeat, no inhale of breath -  _ nothing _ . The wind howled ominously through the trees, taunting the demon, and he all but cursed the night sky as he forcefully pried Aziraphale’s mouth open once more, trying to ignore the cold of the angel’s lips and breathed. 

“Come on, you  _ idiot _ . Work with me here…” Crowley’s curse sounded more like a snarl between shaking teeth. 

Another breath. Then another. 

“You’ve made it through worse shit than this!”

Crowley fought against the pounding in his skull and pushed through the agony of his aching body to push another forceful gulp of air down the angel’s throat before resuming compressions. 

A rib cracked down below, loud enough for him to hear it beside the blood rush in his ears, and Crowley tasted bile on his tongue. His hand shook, tears burning his eyes, but he didn’t stop. He could only swallow the  _ yuck _ , knowing that the occasional crack of a rib was necessary. It meant he was doing it right. Some mortals came away with a bruised chest and multiple broken ribs, but Crowley prayed to whoever was listening,  _ if anyone was listening _ , that Aziraphale could deal with the aftermath of this. Mentally and physically. 

But, Aziraphale wasn’t mortal. Despite what this looked like...he wasn’t mortal. Crowley told himself that over and over. He’d be fine.  _ He’d be fine. _

Crowley repeated the process, becoming more frantic and dare he say  _ angry _ as every second ticked by. How dare the angel do this to him? Of all the fucked up things to put him through - after  _ everything _ \- this was NOT what he imagined ever having to do. Saving a mortal was one thing. Trying to bring your best and  _ only _ friend back from the claws of death was just plain  _ cruel.  _

He angrily wiped at his eyes, teeth gritting. He was  _ not  _ crying. 

“Angel, you need to wake up! Breathe, damn it!” He drew back, slamming a fist hard against the angel’s chest. Aziraphale’s body, otherwise limp and unresponsive, twitched. Crowley took this as a positive sign. Dead bodies didn’t twitch. Well, maybe they did, but Aziraphale  _ wasn’t _ dead. 

He hit him again, even harder than before, and his palm flattened against the angel’s chest, feeling for life. Her murmured under his breath, words he didn’t even know he was saying. A prayer, maybe. His brows knitted together in concentration. 

_ There!  _ He swore he felt something. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there - a distinct  _ thump _ against his palm. 

“Okay, okay, good.  _ Good _ ,” he wet his lips, wide eyes scanning Aziraphale’s body. “Come on now. Come on!” 

Crowley breathed for him again, willing all of his hope and heartbreak into that singular breath. Aziraphale’s chest rose and fell, and Crowley’s left hand, which held Aziraphale’s jaw felt the angel’s adam's apple bob reflexively. 

“There you go!” Crowley felt himself shaking, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “There you go!” His voice rose with his excitement. 

This was working. Thank  _ somebody _ , this was working! Crowley breathed for him one more time, and no sooner did he pull his lips away, Aziraphale gagged and coughed, curling in on himself as his lungs spasmed. 

A manic laugh broke forth from Crowley, and he hastily gathered Aziraphale up in his arms, careful to cradle his head in the crook of his elbow. 

“Aziraphale, you.. _ .ngk...Jesus _ , I’ve got you,” he continued to laugh, stroking his fingers through white curls. “Just breathe, there you go.” Aziraphale shuddered, taking in large gasps of air, glassy eyes roaming.

“Crowley?” He rasped, wincing slightly as he coughed again. His chest heaved. 

“Yeah angel, it’s me.” 

“What...what happened?” Aziraphale reached up, fingers poking at the bruises on his neck and winced. 

Crowley gawked. “What happened?  _ What happened _ ?” He sputtered, clutching the angel to his chest. “You fuckin’ stopped breathing, thats what happened! What the hell were you thinking?!” 

Crowley was near hysterics again, eyes blown wide and jaw tight. Aziraphale squirmed under his gaze, blue eyes refusing to meet gold, and despite the angel attempting to pull away, Crowley held firm to Aziraphale’s arm, claws gripping the fabric of his shirt like a life-line. 

“I was thinking that you were in a pickle, dear, and I had to do something,” Aziraphale replied, picking at the grass on his shirt as he finally managed to sit up. 

“Oh really? That’s it?” Crowley made an over exaggerated gesture and blew a raspberry. “I had that  _ pickle _ under control!” 

“Oh don’t be daft, Crowley!” Aziraphale turned sharply, eyeing the demon as if he were a petulant child. The angel immediately regretted that decision and groaned, arms coming up to encircle his rib cage. Crowley blanched and touched the back of Aziraphale’s neck, hovering over him with a sharp inhale. 

“Shit, shit, shit. Don’t move! You’re still hurt, Aziraphale. You may have a broken rib or two…” 

“Yes...I noticed,” he said through clenched teeth, wincing. 

“Here, let me help you. We need to get you someplace safe. Bookshop’s closer…” 

“What about you, dear? Your leg…” Aziraphale nodded towards Crowley’s blood coated jeans, giving the demon a concerned look. Crowley had all but forgotten about his leg. It hurt like a bitch, yes, but it wasn’t on the top of his “priorities” list at the moment. 

“It’s fine, I’ll deal with it later,” Crowley replied, hoisting one of Aziraphale’s arms over his shoulder, bracing against the angel’s weight. “The Bentley’s not far. I’d miracle us there angel, but I don’t think I have it in me at the moment.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, grasping Crowley’s shirt. “Of course dear, of course. Bentley is fine.”

He slinked an arm around Crowley’s waist, leveraging him against his hip as they took their first wobbly steps forward. Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was down-playing the severity of his leg injury, but said nothing as they slowly (but surely) worked their way down the path, one foot after the other, to the Bentley. Aziraphale would allow Crowley to dismiss his leg for now, but the second they were surrounded by the protective warmth of his bookshop, he’d see to it that his demon was tended to. Stubbornness be damned. 

***20 minutes later***

A fire crackled, warmth surrounding the angel and demon in a comforting glow as doors were locked and tea was made. Crowley, having all but flopped into an armchair, propped his injured leg up on Aziraphale’s chestnut coffee table, moaning in relief as the pressure in his leg eased. The demon rubbed his hands together and flattened his palms towards the flames, eager to chase the chill from his bones. 

Aziraphale sat opposite of him, back straight and ankles crossed. His delicate fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The angel tested the liquid with a cautious sip, and sighed as warmth enveloped his aching throat. 

Had it been any other occasion, Aziraphale would have scolded Crowley for having propped his  _ dirty _ feet up on his antique furniture; however, the angel dared not to say a word. Truthfully, the state of his furniture was the last thing on his mind. Aziraphale cleared his throat, a finger tugging at the collar of his shirt. 

“Really dear, you need to let me look at that leg,” he chided, placing the mug in his lap between sips. “It’ll do you nor I any good if you continue to bleed out all over the floor.” 

“Don’t be dramatic, angel, I’m not bleeding out,” Crowley replied, head tilted back against the plush cushion. The demon looked as boneless as a rag doll. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, curls bouncing. “You’re not.”

“I am.” 

Aziraphale huffed, his eyes rolled. “Do stop it Crowley. If you don’t let me look at it, it could get infected.” 

“It isn’t going to get infected, angel. I’ll fix it in the morning.” 

“Yes, but why wait to fix it in the morning if I can fix it  _ now _ ?” 

Crowley groaned, running a hand down his face. Aziraphale was insufferable. The angel had a point, he knew that, but it wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right now. All he wanted was to sit there in relative silence, down a bottle of whiskey, and pass out. Preferably without Aziraphale pecking at him like a mother hen. 

“Listen angel, all I want to do right now is drink, mmkay?” Crowley gave Aziraphale a flat stare. He brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips. “M’leg is fine. I promise I’ll take care of it in the morning.” 

Aziraphale squirmed, still unsatisfied. 

“Well you just drink and I’ll fix it.”

“No.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, placing his mug to the side. He stood up and walked towards the demon. “Just sit back.” 

“I said no, angel.” Serpent eyes regarded the approaching angel, stern and unamused. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Aziraphale said, reaching out to touch the injured appendage. Crowley snarled, striking out like the serpent he was and slapped Aziraphale’s hand away. 

“I SAID NO!” 

Aziraphale jumped back, pulling his hand back towards his chest with a hurt expression. He didn’t understand this behavior. He was offering aid - something Crowley had never once turned down. He wasn’t going to hurt him. Surely Crowley knew that. 

“Why?” His voice was soft, brows creasing in confusion. 

“Because, you almost  _ died _ you idiot!” Crowley snapped.  "You almost died and I had to freakin' resuscitate you!" His voice trembled with barely-tempered fury. “The last thing you need right now is to over exert yourself and wind up a useless heap on the floor! I can’t deal with that right now, okay?! So just leave me alone and deal with yourself!” 

There. He said it. 

Aziraphale remained silent. A soft  _ oh  _ left his lips, too shocked to do anything but back away. He didn’t sit, but stood in the middle of the room as if he was a stranger to the store - confused as to where to go or what to do next. He didn’t look at Crowley though. He couldn’t. If he did, he was quite positive he’d not be able to mask the tremble of his lower lip. 

Crowley took in his posture and sighed. Aziraphale and his damn eyes. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“Look, angel…” he said, guilt lacing his voice. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just…” he gestured, fumbling with the right words. Crowley sighed again, hands flopping to his lap. There were no right words. 

“It’s just, I don’t want you hurting yourself. We’ve had a rough night. You need to rest, angel. I know you  _ can _ heal me, but it would make  _ me _ feel better if you just didn’t. Not tonight.” 

Aziraphale nodded, faking a small smile. His hands twisted together. 

“Yes, of course. I understand.” 

He may have understood, but Crowley could tell in the way the angel’s voice clipped that Aziraphale wasn’t satisfied. He was still pouting, and most likely would continue to pout until he got his way. The demon could only roll his eyes with an exasperated huff, knowing good and well he’d have to cave. Otherwise, Aziraphale would sulk the night away. 

“Fine,” Crowley waved a hand, pretending to ignore the way the angel’s head immediately snapped up. “You can fix my leg  _ only  _ if you feel up to it and  _ only _ if you fix your ribs, too.” 

Aziraphale beamed, practically glowing. Crowley took note that once again, he had been played by an angel. God, he was sucker. 

“Of course, of course,” Aziraphale replied, crossing back over to the armchair. “I feel perfectly fine dear! It’ll only take a second.” 

Aziraphale tugged at the ripped denim, pulling it back with a grimace. The wound had mostly clogged and was no longer bleeding through the demon’s clothing; however, as Aziraphale poked around the swollen flesh of Crowley’s thigh, blood seeped sluggishly. The angel wrinkled his nose. The wound itself was deep, and he was surprised that Crowley had managed to put weight on it at all. 

“It would be easier if you took off your pants,” he said as he continued to analyze the wound. 

“I’m  _ not _ taking off my pants, angel,” Crowley replied flatly. 

“But - “

“No.” 

“Fine, fine. Hold still.” 

Aziraphale flexed his fingers much like he did when he prepared for one of his amateur magic tricks and covered the wound with both hands. A soft glow emitted from his palms, and Crowley felt this skin on his leg tingle. He had been healed by Aziraphale before, but each time seemed different. It was as if the angel’s emotions affected the way in which his body produced magic. In this case, the tingling became slightly uncomfortable - like minuscule pin pricks - before the glow subsided and Aziraphale pulled his hands away. 

The angel rocked back on his heels, satisfied with his work. 

Crowley bent forward to inspect the healed flesh himself, and hummed appreciatively. It was as if the wound had never been there in the first place. His leg still ached; though he suspected a day or two of rest would cure any remaining repercussions of the battle. 

“Thanks,” he said, miracling the congealed blood and grime from his jeans. “Now it is your turn. I want you to take care of your ribs. And those bruises on your neck. Don’ like looking at em’.” Crowley didn’t like watching the angel wince either. The sooner Aziraphale healed himself, the better.

Nodding, Aziraphale smiled warmly. As nonchalant as Crowley tried to be, Aziraphale  _ knew _ .

The angel closed his eyes, hands resting on his lap. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly in a meditative state. He was quiet. He always was when he was healing. He rarely moved, eyes often closed, and when he was done, he’d simply  _ hum  _ and blink as if he was snapping awake from a quick doze. 

This time was no different. Crowley heard the soft hum and the subtle shift of his body.

“Hmmmm, that’s odd.” Aziraphale looked stumped - like he had given an equation he couldn’t quite work out. Crowley’s eyes snapped open.

“What?” 

“It didn’t work.”

Crowley tensed, eyeing Aziraphale with mildly concealed alarm. “What do you mean it didn’t work?” 

“I  _ mean _ I tried to miracle away the bruises and heal the ribs, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t do it.” Aziraphale gulped, staring at his hands as if his hands weren’t his own. 

Crowley stood up, circling the angel. Had he been a creature with fur, his hackles would’ve been raised. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air - tasting the scent of the angel, hissing when he could find no substantial change in Aziraphale’s celestial or human body. This should’ve been a good thing; however, something wasn’t right. Crowley had a hunch. 

He sat down in front of Aziraphale, fixing him with a scrutinizing stare. 

“Try again.” 

Aziraphale exhaled, shoulders slouching. “Crowley dear, I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m just tired is all…” 

Crowley wouldn’t accept that answer. “Please angel, try again.” 

He left no room for argument. Aziraphale got his way, now Crowley would get his. 

Sighing, Aziraphale resumed his former position - eyes closed and deep breaths. His brow creased and his head lowered. He set his jaw as if he was troubled, which he was. Aziraphale shook his head, forgoing the hum and the sleepy blink to match Crowley’s worried stare with his own. 

“I can’t. I tried...but, but it is like there is a block, Crowley. I don’t...I don’t know how else to explain it,” he stammered, running a pale hand through his mess of white curls. “I don’t know.” 

Crowley didn’t like this. Aziraphale inability to heal himself was unnatural. It was  _ wrong. _ Crowley’s attempts to revive him in the park via demonic miracle was one thing. He could accept failure on his part, but there should be no reason Aziraphale should still have a single bruise left on his body. His magic  _ should  _ have worked. Between both of their attempts,  _ something  _ should’ve worked. 

The demon was about to call bull-shit. It was the only comprehensible answer. But, he couldn’t - not when Aziraphale looked on the brink of tears, tired eyes heavy with worry and confusion. Instead Crowley reached out, placing a hand on the angel’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” he soothed, trying to appease his troubled friend with a smile. “You’re probably right. It has been a long day, and you’re exhausted.” 

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly and nodded, trying to convince himself of the same.

“Listen. We’ll get some sleep, you and me. Tomorrow we’ll figure it out. Together. I promise.” And Crowley meant it. Aziraphale knew that. Crowley wouldn’t  _ dare  _ leave Aziraphale alone to deal with whatever this was on his own, near-death experience or not. 

They were on their own side now, as Crowley liked to frequently remind the angel. When one had a problem, so did the other. There was no place one would go where the other wouldn’t follow, and truth be told, they were all but inseparable. 

They may not have the answers tonight, seemingly satisfied to settle on the sofa together, shoulders touching and hands loosely clasped, but tomorrow they’d search for answers. 

Aziraphale tucked his head underneath Crowley’s jaw, in desperate need to touch. The demon obliged him without a second thought. He looped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, burying his nose within the fine, white curls, his eyes fixating on the crackling fire. As he breathed in the angel’s scent, an idea formed into being. 

_ Tomorrow _ , he thought. Tomorrow they were going to Tadfield. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
_Questions will be answered soon..._
> 
> **It might be important to note that I am under the opinion that Crowley and Aziraphale's human corporations are very much human. I know there are plenty of others that think differently, but I explored this idea somewhat in my previous Good Omens story _ (which doesn't share a timeline with this story)_ and I wanted to expand on the topic. I plan on working out this theory of mine in the chapters to come, but I am glad to dive deeper should anyone wish to chat one-on one. 
> 
> tumblr- **cayranwilde**  
Discord - **Cayran#8511**
> 
> Feel free to ask me questions or chat! I appreciate the comments and kudos! 


	4. The Orchard

The countryside was beautiful this time of year. Crisp leaves, colors varying in hue and texture floated through the air and painted the earth. The air itself was clearer - no longer hazed by the roar and pollution of London. Crowley could smell the dew as he parked the Bentley on the side of the road, grass crunching from the night’s frost under it’s tires. The demon rolled down his window, his breath visible in the morning air. 

“Lucifer’s boy isn’t far,” Crowley said softly, shifting the car into “park.” The engine rumbled and died beneath his feet. 

He could smell the boy. Technically Adam was no longer the devil’s son. He had chosen his mortal father over his father-in-hell, and while he no longer held a relation to the devil, he still had a hint of sulphur about him. It was something Crowley couldn’t smell prior to knowing the boy, but now - now that Adam had _ revealed  _ himself - the smell was apparent to a demon’s nose. 

“Need any help?” he asked, casting a glance over at Aziraphale as he unbuckled himself. The angel merely shook his head, tossing the buckle over his shoulder. 

“You sure?” Crowley’s voice was soft, uncharacteristically so. He’d been soft with Aziraphale all morning. No pointed jabs, no impish humor, nothing typical of himself. Just gentle, caring hands, vigilant eyes and careful words. Crowley couldn’t tell if Aziraphale appreciated the shift in character, or detested it. The angel was being uncharacteristically quiet. 

But really, Crowley couldn’t blame him. Aziraphale was going through something that neither of them understood. If there was anyone that had answers, it would be Adam. Maybe Anathema - but it was his understanding that there were no more prophecies. Without prophecies, he doubted the witch could be of much use to them with regards to this particular situation. 

So, Adam it was. 

“Yes, dear. I’m fine,” Aziraphale smiled half-heartedly and hoisted himself out of the Bentley. He steadied himself against the side of the car, taking a deeply gathered breath. 

“Just a little sore, but that is to be expected.” 

Crowley nodded, eyes dropping behind the frame of his glasses, lips pitching into a frown. _ Sore _ , sure. Of course he was sore. Anyone with eyes could see that. The angel’s movements were stiff and slow - the adrenaline from the night before long gone. Aziraphale looked as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life, which technically, wasn’t an exaggerated observation. Blue bruises were now mottled with purple and lined in a sickly yellow, and covered either side of his neck. His chest, which was thankfully covered by his many layers of clothing, was just as bad if not worse thanks to the broken ribs which blackened his skin. He barely concealed a grimace as he recalled the angel’s mottled chest. 

Crowley quickly dismissed the grimace and walked to the other side of the Bentley, hands shoved into the tight pockets of his jeans. Rounding on Aziraphale, Crowley offered him his elbow for support, which thankfully the angel took. 

“Oh, thank you dear,” Aziraphale squeezed the crook of the demon’s elbow graciously, leaning against Crowley as the two began towards the apple orchard. Crowley only offered a sharp nod in return, face otherwise unreadable. 

The pair moved slowly through the rows of apple trees, dew gathering on the hem of their pants as they walked. The trees were in season, and luscious pink-ladies riddled the limbs of each tree, waiting to be plucked. Crowley couldn’t help but smirk. The reddish hue of the ripened fruit casted him back to the days of Eden, and for old times sake he reached out a picked the prettiest one he could find. 

“You shouldn’t steal, Crowley” Aziraphale chided half-heartedly, keeping a firm grasp on the demon’s arm. 

Crowley smiled, biting into the apple with a satisfied hum. A bit of juice slid down the curve of his chin, which Aziraphale pretended not to notice. 

“Awe, one apple isn’t going to be missed,” he said between chews. He held out the apple to Aziraphale and wiggled his eyebrows. “It is one of  _ millions _ , angel. Come on, one bite.” 

The angel eyed the fruit, tempted, but declined with a sigh. He could hardly eat a bowl of oatmeal this morning or drink his morning cup of tea - an apple, even if it was just one bite would surely irritate his already sore throat. A hand flew up to gently touch the bruised skin, and Crowley understood. 

“Sorry, Aziraphale. I wasn’t thinking.” He deflated, tossing the half-eaten apple over his shoulder. 

“It is fine, truly. I’m sure it tasted lovely. I just, well…”

“You don’t have to explain anything. I get it. My mistake, really.” Crowley wasn’t upset, at least not with Aziraphale. He hadn’t meant to give off that impression. He  _ was _ however upset with their situation. It seemed they couldn’t catch a break. Three months of freedom and this is where they were at - marching through a damp orchard in search of a child. 

Aziraphale didn’t like _ damp. _ It caused the angel’s pink, pointed nose to scrunch in annoyance. The moisture was surely ruining his shoes. 

Turning down another row of trees, Crowley and Aziraphale immediately noticed the child in question hanging upside down on a branch. The boy was a good six feet off the ground. Adam look as he had before, wild curls and all. In one hand he held an apple, teasing the hell-hound he had named “Dog.” The little feist mix jumped and snapped his jaws in an attempt to steal the apple from it’s master’s hand, but each time he came close, Adam pulled his arm away and giggled. Upon first glance, the game seemed cruel. Azirapahle never enjoyed the unnecessary torment of innocent creatures; however, as the angel and demon walked towards the tree, it was apparent that the beast was enjoying himself just as much as the boy. 

“Hello, Adam,” Aziraphale greeted kindly. He raised his hand in a sheepish wave. Dog barked and sniffed Crowley’s shoes, but otherwise seemed disinterested in the pair. 

Adam turned his head to face them, his face red from the blood rushing to his head. He didn’t seem surprised that they were there, in fact, his eyes scanned them as if he had been expecting them.  _ Maybe he had _ , Crowley thought. There was no telling what all the former anti-christ could sense and do. Human boy or not, Adam was still occult. 

“Hello,” Adam replied simply. He grabbed hold of the branch and pulled himself up into a sitting position and shoved the apple into his pocket. “Were you craving apples today? Mr. Richard’s orchard is the best. He doesn’t like it when I pick the apples, but he never can catch me.” 

The boy seemed pleased with himself, his lips twisting in a smirk. 

“Um, no. Not exactly. Ah...you see…” Aziraphale fumbled his words - Crowley had come to recognize it as a nervous habit. “We’ve had a rather unpleasant altercation recently...last night to be exact, and well, we were wondering, that is if you have the time, and if you don’t that is fine, but -” 

“We need to know what is wrong with Aziraphale,” Crowley all but demanded, laying a hand on the angel’s shoulder. Bless him. In all his time on earth, it still took him minutes to get to the point. 

Adam squinted his eyes, swinging his legs back and forth. 

“Looks just like Mr. Aziraphale said. You guys got into a fight. I get bruises too when I get into a fight. Pepper thinks she’s stronger than me, and sometimes she is, but not by much.” 

The boy tossed an apple down to Dog, who happily caught it in his jaws with a _ yip _ . The creature settled between Crowley’s boots, seemingly drawn to Crowley’s demonic presence. The demon raised an eyebrow at the tiny beast, but otherwise didn’t seem bothered by it. 

“It isn’t the bruises that concern us,” Crowley said, looking up from the dog. “It is the fact that Aziraphale can’t  _ heal  _ the bruises. He should be able to heal them.” 

Adam tilted his head curiously, but otherwise didn’t seem as concerned as the angel and demon before him. 

“Yeah, but they’re just bruises. They’ll fade…”

Crowley growled. “ _ But that isn’t the point _ -” 

Aziraphale reached out and lightly squeezed Crowley’s arm to placate the demon and stepped forward, still using Crowley’s arm as a brace. He’d be fine without it, but having the demon within arm's reach was comforting. 

“Adam,” he breathed, a polite smile wrinkling his eyes, “As you well know, I’m an angel. I am no stranger to getting injured; however, angels can heal themselves. We can vanish bruises from our corporation within seconds, and mend bones just as easily. It is extremely  _ odd _ that I can no longer do this for myself. And rather inconvenient.” 

“Can you heal others?” Adam asked, pushing some of his wild curls from his face. 

“Yes,” the angel replied.

“Have you  _ always _ been able to heal others?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded, blue eyes casting a swift glance to Crowley who stood beside him with his arms crossed. “In fact, I was able to heal Crowley after the altercation, but not myself.” 

“But that’s not all,” Crowley intercepted, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head. He didn’t care if Adam saw his eyes - it wouldn’t be the first time. At this rate, it wouldn’t be the last. Crowley had a sinking feeling that their lives would forever be entwined now, regardless of the boy’s mortality. 

“The angel all but  _ died _ ,” the demon hissed, pain lacing his voice as memories of the previous night flooded his brain. Aziraphale’s gaze lowered in discomfort, his shoulders dropping. 

“I had to resuscitate him like a  _ human _ . That isn’t normal - not for us.”

“And what is normal?” Adam seemed somewhat concerned now, as much as a child could when faced with something far beyond their level of reasoning. Former antichrist or not, he was still an 11 year old boy. Death, although very much real _ (he knew, because he had stood face to face with the anomaly)  _ wasn’t something he actively thought about, or considered. He was far too concerned with entertaining the Them, geometry, global warming, and sneaking Dog his vegetables when his parents weren’t looking. Death wasn’t on the table. 

“Discorporation,”Crowley responded matter of factly, as if obvious. “Our bodies would cease to exist. We’d evaporate, blow up, become nothing more than dust on the wind.  _ Poof! _ There would be  _ nothing  _ left.” 

Adam scoffed, nose wrinkling in repugnance. “And that is _ better _ than a mortal death?” 

“No, of course not,” Crowley huffed, slapping a hand on the bone of his waist. “But that's not the point! The point is it isn’t natural.  _ None _ of this is natural.” 

An uncomfortable silence then settled between the three of them. It was bound to be brief, what with the bubbling curiosity of a child and the impatience of a demon, but for a moment nothing was spoken. Eyes shifted and met, the chilly morning air ruffling the fabric of their clothing. 

“Look,” Aziraphale said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he felt a headache coming on. He was growing tired, the pain of his injuries already wearing him down. “Crowley and I can’t figure out what is wrong. Trust me,” he laughed dryly, “we tried.” 

Adam gave him a look - something akin to pity. His legs no longer swung happily as he remained perched on the three branch. Instead, he stilled, drawing his coat closer to his boyish frame.

“ _ You _ separated me from Madame Tracy -  _ you _ gave me my corporation back. I thought... _ we  _ thought you might be able to fix me, or at least give us some sort of explanation.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose, looking hopeful. There was no telling what all the former antichrist could do, but the angel sensed  _ magic _ in him. Magic akin to his...akin to Crowley’s. Aziraphale was certain Adam had retained some if not  _ all _ of his abilities, even after renouncing his biological father. He was sure of it. 

“I don’t know…” Adam bit his lip, hesitantly running his eyes up and down the angel’s form. “I don’t want the magic, you know. Never did. I hoped it would go away when things didn’t go as planned,” he huffed with a pout. 

“Adam,  _ please _ …” Crowley all but pleaded. The demon would have knelt there in the dirt if he knew the boy would’ve caved at the sight of it. He was desperate - he was  _ scared _ , and aside from tucking their tails and trying to weasel answers from their former associates, Adam was their only hope. If Adam couldn’t help them because he didn’t have the skills to do so, then fine. But if he could, Crowley figured he at least owed it to them to  _ try.  _

Adam seemed to sense that. 

He gave a resigned huff and swung himself off the branch, his boots hitting the ground with a  _ thud _ . For an 11 year old boy, he was quite tall. He came nearly nose-to-chin with Aziraphale as he closed the gap between them, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“I can’t promise anything, alright? Just stand still.” 

“Oh thank you Adam, thank you.” Aziraphale smiled and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He fought the urge to reach out and shake the child’s hand, but settled for an exuberant nod. 

“Of course, of course,” he said, curling his arms behind his back. The angel stood as straight as he could, like a soldier waiting for an inspection. 

Naturally, Crowley hovered close. He turned to face them, arms folded across his chest. He looked very much like a bouncer of a club - Aziraphale being the club of course. He stood there, legs firmly planted, daring anyone and anything to  _ try something _ . He knew Adam wouldn’t harm the angel, but after everything they had gone through, Crowley couldn’t be too careful.

Nevertheless, Adam ignored him.

While it looked as if Adam was giving Aziraphale a simple look-over, the child was doing far more than that. He was looking  _ beyond _ , aware of things neither the angel or demon could see. 

His blue eyes began at the angel’s white curls and slowly began to move down. He peered over his shoulders as if acknowledging the white wings hidden in the celestial plain. He then processed the heavy bruising of Aziraphale’s neck and how the angel’s adam’s apple bobbed nervously under his scrutinizing gaze. Adam’s eyes paused as he became eye level with Aziraphale’s chest, and he made a noise. 

“What? What is it?” Crowley asked, unable to hide the uneasy edge in his voice. 

Adam didn’t answer. He simply stared at Aziraphale, continuing to look at him as if he was a puzzle missing pieces. Crowley didn’t like it. It left him unsettled. 

“Well?” Crowley pushed. He didn’t like this at all. 

“I’m not sure,” Adam replied, looking baffled. He blinked and rocked back on his heels. 

“What do you mean?” The demon let a snarl pass his lips, the gold of his eyes bleeding into white. Aziraphale reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm and shook his head. He didn’t want the demon frightening the boy, though Adam didn’t seem bothered. 

“I mean that I am not sure how to explain it.” Adam shrugged, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “It’s not  _ bad _ , but I don’t think it is an answer you’ll be satisfied with.” 

Aziraphale shushed Crowley before he could say another word, and Crowley grunted in mild annoyance but otherwise remained quiet.

“I’ll be fine regardless, my dear boy,” Azriaphale said truthfully, wringing his hands together timidly. He smiled again, though it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just, if you would, please tell us what it is you saw. I would be most  _ grateful _ .” 

Adam liked Aziraphale. He had already decided that three months ago. He liked Crowley too, even if the demon was impatient and brash. Still, they were both  _ good _ \- he could sense that. He hesitated only because what he saw would only bring them to ask more questions; questions he didn’t think they’d like the answer to. But that was life, wasn’t it? Living in a mortal world meant dealing with the uncertainty and change that went with it. It went hand in hand. Any creature of earth had to deal with whatever cards they were dealt, whether they liked it or not, and this did  _ not  _ exclude earthbound angels and demons. 

But maybe he underestimated Aziraphale and Crowley. They had been on the earth for over 6,000 years- a far cry from his miniscule 11. Maybe they’d accept it with grace. 

_ Maybe.  _

“Well,” he breathed, his cheeks puffing as he exhaled. “As said, it is  _ really _ hard to explain.” He kicked at a rotten apple near his feet, watching the maggots squirm in and out of the blackened holes. 

“You’re still immortal, but you’re mortal at the same time.” 

Aziraphale paused, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry?” 

“Like... _ uuuggghhh,”  _ Adam threw his head back. He didn’t have the maturity for this. He was a  _ kid _ , for pete’s sake. Former antichrist or not, he was still a kid. 

“Like,” he began again, waving his hands theatrically. “Like you’ll not grow old. You’ll continue to look as you’ve looked for like, ever. Like since you’ve been on the planet, if that makes sense. But, you can get hurt like a mortal now, and you have to deal with injuries like a mortal now. Okay?” 

Aziraphale gawked, blue eyes wide in confusion. Crowley on the other hand shook his head and took a menacing step closer towards the boy. He all but hissed. 

“ _ Wot _ ?” Crowley looked in disbelief. Surely he had heard wrong. 

“He’s still immortal, but he can’t heal himself anymore,” Adam repeated as if it was the simplest thing. 

“I still don’t understand - “ 

“Like Vampires!” Adam exclaimed suddenly, a light bulb flickering on in his subconscious. “You guys know what vampires are, right?”

“Pppfffft,”Crowley waved a hand dramatically before crossing his arms across his chest. “Of course we know what vampires are. Bloody fake, is what they are.” 

“Yes, I know, but Mr. Aziraphale is sort of like a vampire,” Adam wet his lips, pushing a few stay bangs from his eyes. He ignored Crowley’s eyeroll. “Vampires are immortal. They can live forever, but even they have weaknesses - garlic, wooden stakes, silver, daylight, yada yada…Aziraphale can live forever just has he has been doing, but now he has certain weaknesses. Mortal weaknesses. ” 

“Do you mind elaborating?” Aziraphale asked, shifting uncomfortably. 

“You can bruise, break bones, cut yourself, drown - anything that can happen to us humans can happen to you, and you’ll have to deal with it like a human deals will it, I’m afraid.” 

The angel looked taken aback. He breathed a silent  _ “oh,” _ and slightly faltered, only to be steadied by a sudden hand on his shoulder. Crowley had closed the gap between them, dead set on a rebuttal. 

“But that can’t be. He healed  _ me _ .” Denial bled from the demon’s mouth, leaving a bad taste on his tongue. 

Adam sighed, “he hasn’t lost his ability to heal and perform miracles on others, just himself.” 

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Crowley barked, fingers curling tightly around the angel’s shoulders - not only supporting the angel in a protective embrace, but comforting himself as well. He could feel Aziraphale shiver under his touch, shock literally vibrating every inch of the angel’s corporation. 

Adam wasn’t bothered by the demon’s outburst. If anything, he looked a bit sad. He had hoped they’d take the news well, but hope was never guaranteed. 

“I told you it would be hard to understand,” he replied simply, shoulders bobbing in a sloppy shrug. 

“But…” Aziraphale paused, a hand reaching forward as if he had intended to touch the boy, but decided against it. “Could you...could you fix me?” His blue eyes looked desperately at Adam, silently begging. 

The angel wet his lips, taking a careful step forward. 

“You made this body after all. Maybe... _ surely _ you can do something.” 

Adam regarded him, lips pressed in a thin line. He looked again - eyes burrowing deep within the angel’s vessel - but shook his head. 

“I don’t think I can. I don’t have the power that I had. Heck,” the boy scoffed, kicking his boot in the dirt. “I don’t want the power I have  _ now _ .” 

“It doesn’t matter if you  _ want _ them,” Crowley hissed, his forked tongue poking past his teeth. “You have them! This is _ your _ fault, boy. You didn’t put him back right! You need to fix him.” 

Still, Adam remained composed save for the smallest curl of his lips. Something behind the boy’s eyes glinted _ red  _ \- a challenge perhaps. Though it was only a glint, and Adam’s eyes resumed their normal blue color as he tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged again. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t have the ability anymore.” 

Adam figured (though he knew very little on the power angels and demons possessed) that his current abilities were similar, if not a bit stronger. He was nowhere near as powerful as he was. Three months ago he could have wiped the face of the earth and rebuilt it again within the blink of an eye. He was akin to a  _ God _ \- but now, now he was something in between. A new breed, perhaps. 

Regardless, he couldn’t do as they asked. 

Crowley growled loudly and tossed his hands up into the air in anger. He turned without a second thought and began walking away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he made a bee-line for the Bentley. 

“Come on, angel! Boy’s practically useless. We’re done here!” 

Aziraphale sighed and looked at Adam apologetically. 

“I’m sorry...please don’t mind him. He’s just... _ well _ ...it has been a rough couple of days,” the angel said softly, a small sheepish smile curved his lips. 

Adam only nodded and bent down to scratch Dog behind his ears. The hellhound licked his fingers and sniffed at the apple tucked away in the boy’s coat pocket. 

“It’s okay,” Adam said. “He’s your friend and he cares about you. I’d be mad too if I couldn’t help my friends.” 

Aziraphale’s smile faded, his eyes full and glassy. He hears the demon call for him, and turned halfway with a heavy sigh. The angel felt thread thin, like a strong breeze could undo him at any second. Still, his legs began moving, blindly following the path the demon took only seconds before. 

“Aziraphale?” 

The angel paused and gulped in a breath and raised his head. He glanced back over his shoulder. 

“It is not that bad,” Adam said softly, their eyes meeting. “Mortality, that is.” Adam tossed a bruised apple for Dog, watching as the small creature ran after it barking wildly. “Dog and I like it just fine.” 

He tried to smile, but he couldn’t. The angel knew the boy only meant to comfort him, and  _ perhaps  _ he was comforted, if only a little. But this was a lot to take in - more weight than he cared to carry - and his gaze fell to the sun touched grass below. This wasn’t something he, nor Crowley would find peace with over night. 

“I am sorry though,” Adam continued, the sun bouncing off of his curls. “I really am.” 

Aziraphale nodded, his throat painfully tight. He didn’t have the heart to look up. He was afraid that if he did, the dam would break. He couldn’t be undone - not yet. 

“I know,” he said, giving Adam one last glance as he began back up the path that led to Crowley. 

“I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor boys - I wonder what will happen next? ;) 
> 
> Sorry this update took a little longer. I've not been feeling the best. Good ol' fall crud. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> tumblr- **cayranwilde**  
Discord - **Cayran#8511**
> 
> Feel free to ask me questions or chat!


	5. The Tipping Point

The drive home had been quiet. Hardly a word was said between them. Crowley uncharacteristically remained focused on the road ahead, weaving through vehicles with a little more caution than usual. If what Adam had told them was true (which he had no reason to believe the boy had lied), then he  _ needed _ to obey traffic laws while the angel sat in the passenger seat. The demon’s eyes shifted from the road to Aziraphale, though he never said a word. 

The angel remained stoic, watching the world pass him by behind the glass of the Bentley. He didn’t move save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, but blinked out of his trans as soon as the car pulled up beside the bookshop. 

He exited the Bentley slowly, Crowley coming around to help him up the small stairway of the shop. Still, they were quiet. 

Aziraphale didn’t protest as Crowley pushed him gently into his favorite armchair and popped off to make the angel a cup of tea. Not like he’d ever protest a comfy chair or a steaming cup of tea. It was more the “man handling” that he wasn’t used to - the extra set of gentle hands that treated him like he was breakable. 

Maybe he was now. He felt like it. 

The demon came back into the room as quickly as he left, placing the steaming saucer on the side table. He hovered at Aziraphale’s feet, casting a long shadow over the angel that caused Aziraphale to look up as he sipped his drink. 

“Take off your shirt,” Crowley demanded, lanky arms crossed over his chest. Aziraphale sputtered, tea dribbling down his chin. 

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” 

“I said take off your shirt,” Crowley didn’t budge, serpentine eyes glowing dimly in the poorly lit room. “You heard what Adam said. You heal like a _ human  _ now,” the word “human” leaving a bad taste on his tongue. “We’ve got to treat your injuries accordingly. So, take off your shirt.” 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley as if he had two heads. Blue eyes, dulled by stress and pain blinked, and his mouth moved to protest, but there was no _ real _ reason to protest. Crowley was right. He began unbuttoning his waist coat with a sigh, tugging it off and handing it to Crowley. His blue shirt was next, but as his fingers reached the fourth button, Aziraphale paused and slumped. 

“What?” Crowley tilted his head, fingers outstretched to receive the garment. 

“I don’t like this,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft and vulnerable. 

Crowley scoffed. “I’ve seen you naked before, angel. Remember in Rome when we - “

“No, no,” Aziraphale shook his head, deflating. “It's not that. It’s this...this situation. I’m just, I thought…” he stuttered and closed his eyes, trying to find the right words. He breathed in deeply, eyes meeting Crowley’s and smiled sadly. 

“I had  _ hoped _ for better news, is all.” 

Crowley emitted a soft guttural noise, squirming in discomfort. He didn’t like this either. He didn’t like the fact that Aziraphale was as vulnerable as the humans now, nor did he like the hopeless droop of the angel’s eyes and the overall feeling of despair that replaced the angel’s once healthy glow. In addition, Crowley didn’t like how this situation caused him to feel - the way the  _ angel _ caused him to feel. 

Worry, concern, dread, possessiveness - these weren’t feelings he was generally accustomed too, especially when these feelings were directed towards someone else. Crowley had always known, maybe even from the very beginning that he cared for Aziraphale, but to what extent? As he stared down at the despondent being before him, slouched forward in rumpled heap, he was beginning to realize the answer to that question. 

Too much. More than anything. More than  _ himself.  _ More than the  _ world. _

Aziraphale was everything now. There was no one else. He  _ more  _ than cared about the angel, and that feeling was a four letter word. He didn’t _ like _ four letter words. 

Fuck. 

Crowley stifled the snarl that threatened to spill past his lips has he battled inwardly with himself, drawing his eyes up to the heavens in a silent prayer. Someone have mercy on him - on them both. 

The demon ran a hand through his auburn hair and sighed. He reached out to gently squeeze Aziraphale’s shoulder and rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin of the angel’s collar bone. 

“Look, we’ll figure this out, alright? There has to be _ something _ …”Crowley reasoned, his hands slowly moving to finish unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt for him. “Until then, lets just take this one step at a time. Okay? Shirt off, angel.” 

The angel didn’t protest. He just slouched and nodded. He watched as the buttons of his shirt came undone, one by one, and slowly shrugged the fabric off of his shoulders. Crowley then took the shirt and folded it neatly before turning to face the now shirtless angel. 

Soft or not, Aziraphale had always been beautiful. Perhaps his softness was what made him beautiful - either way, even with the discoloration of his skin due to broken bones, torn muscle and beaten flesh, the angel was still a sight to behold. Good Lord. He was beautiful,  _ perfect  _ even. 

Crowley felt himself gulp.

He took the angel all in, from the blonde curls all the way to the soft roll of his belly before he shook himself from his stupor. Amber eyes met blue, and the demon cleared his throat, trying to push all the wants and devilish thoughts from the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t deal with them right now. His angel was broken. 

“Alright…” Crowley breathed, popping his knuckles. He sank to his knees in front of Aziraphale, leveling their gaze. “Lets see what I can do.”

“Do you  _ know  _ what to do?” Aziraphale asked, one prim eyebrow raising questionably. 

“ _ PPPppffffttt _ ,” Crowley leaned back, looking slightly off put. “I’ll have you know that I know more than you!” The demon snapped his fingers and a semi-hefty first-aid kit appeared on the side table, nearly knocking Aziraphale’s teacup clean off. 

“You learn a thing or two when you fraternize with humans on a regular basis,” Crowley said, fingers digging through the first-aid kit. “Not all of us cared to sit inside a bookshop all day.” 

Aziraphale gave him a  _ look _ and muttered something under his breath about  _ smart ass _ and knowing humans too. Though, the angel remained quiet otherwise. He stiffened when the demon began to probe gently at his ribs, breathing through his teeth when fingers grazed over tender flesh. 

Crowley didn’t look up from his work, though muttered quiet apologies under his breath every time the angel flinched. With a huff of his own he leaned back on his heels and grabbed a roll of thick gauze. 

“I’ll need you to sit up for me, angel,” Crowley instructed gently, fingers beckoning for Aziraphale to scoot to the edge of the chair. When Aziraphale complied, he internally grimaced and bit his tongue - curses threatening to spill past his lips when one of the broken ribs visibly shifted as the angel moved. Aziraphale hadn’t expressed any vocal display of discomfort, but it was obvious the angel was in pain. Watching him attempt to position himself comfortably had been torturous, but Crowley swallowed his personal discomfort. Aziraphale didn’t need to worry about him, and bless, the angel  _ would _ . 

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked, unraveling the gauze. Aziraphale nodded stiffly, his lips twisting in a faint but reassuring smile. 

“Yes, dear. Though I can’t say that I am all that comfortable at the moment.” 

Crowley knew that, but he nodded and lightly patted Aziraphale’s knee. 

“I’m sorry if this gets a bit uncomfortable,” he said, beginning to wrap the gauze around Aziraphale’s chest. “I’ve got to get it tight enough so that your ribs can’t shift.” 

The angel flinched in response and gripped the armrest of his chair for support. Crowley threw him a rueful glance, but continued to work. The sooner he got this done, the sooner they could try to return to a state of normality. Hopefully. 

Slowly, the demon encircled Aziraphale’s upper torso with the gauze. The gauze was pulled tight and not an inch of skin could be seen between each row of the fabric and he moved downwards with his ministrations. Other than a soft gasp or moan, Aziraphale didn’t complain. He let Crowley work silently. 

The demon’s concentration was impenetrable. He worked row by row, layer by layer, until he was utterly pleased with his work. He cleared his throat and sat back, eyeing his bandage job with a scrutinizing gace; however, he was ultimately satisfied. 

“Try to sit back now - see how that feels.” 

Aziraphale obeyed and leaned back into the chair, and after a moment of silence, the angel looked genuinely surprised. 

“Oh,” he breathed, his face brightening. “That is  _ much _ better, my dear.” 

He sunk down into the comfort of the cushions and closed his eyes, humming pleasantly. He had no intentions of falling asleep - sleep was a habit of Crowley’s - but he was tempted to become utterly lazy for the rest of the afternoon. 

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, blue eyes opening to regard the demon fondly. He smiled again and sipped at his tea, pleasantly surprised to find that it was still warm. A demonic miracle, no doubt. 

Crowley nodded and scratched the back of his neck, the large first-aid kit vanishing as quickly as it appeared. 

“We’ll have to re-do it every other day for the next few weeks, you know, just to keep the bandages clean, but it’ll help.” Crowley sat down on the foot rest, gangly arms resting on his knees. “Can’t do anything about your neck though, angel. Sorry.” 

There would be no point in it. It wouldn’t help. The skin of Aziraphale’s neck would have to heal on its own. 

“You’ll just have to settle for pain relievers.”

“And whiskey,” Aziraphale added. 

“And whiskey,” Crowley agreed, smirking. 

There was then a moment of silence between them - an uneasy blanket thickened the air around them, settling heavily on their shoulders. Small smiles faded, and when amber eyes met blue again, worry was drawn amongst the lines of the demon’s face. He reached forward again, uncharacteristically placing a comforting hand on the angel’s knee. All this raw affection - all this emotion - Crowley wasn’t used to it. But, he suspected Aziraphale  _ needed _ it right now. Possibly even needed him. 

“You okay?” This time Crowley wasn’t referring to his physical state. He squeezed Aziraphale’s knee, watching his angel carefully. He could count on one hand all the times he had witnessed the angel cry. Aziraphale almost always remained collected, even in the worst situations. He was a foundation, a source of comfort himself, and without sounding too cliché, Crowley had always looked to Aziraphale as a source of consistency. Soft the angel may look, but there was more strength in him than his previous colleagues had ever gave him credit for. Bastards never deserved him…

He was the best of them. Always had been.

Nevertheless, when Aziraphale refused to meet his gaze, Crowley expected an onslaught of tears. 

He wouldn’t blame him though. Mortality, even situational, was a hard pill to swallow. If they were lucky, Aziraphale would never have to face a life-threatening scenario again and could continue on living for thousands and thousands of years. However, that was no longer promised. Crowley supposed it never really was, but now - now they had to be  _ extra  _ careful. The demon had all but determined to never let the angel out of his sight. 

A sniff broke Crowley from his thoughts, and something warm and wet dropped against his outstretched hand. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” he immediately surged forwards to straddle the angel’s hips, and cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks between his hands firmly. Tears began to stream down Aziraphale’s face in earnest, the wall cracked and heaving, and Crowley stroked his thumbs across the angel’s cheeks, catching as many tears as he could. 

“It’ll be okay. I’m here,  _ I’m here _ . I’m not leaving, I’m here…” it was like a mantra, something Crowley felt he couldn’t say enough. He continued to stroke and pet every inch of the angel’s face, his long fingers carding through the white curls and across soft skin. He could feel the anguish rolling off Aziraphale’s shoulders in waves as he shook with sobs, and Crowley bent forward to press a firm kiss against the angel’s warm brow. 

“I’m…I’m…” the angel weezed, hiccuping and bending forward to hold Crowley against him, his fingers clawing desperately at the fabric of Crowley’s jacket. “I’m  _ scared _ …” 

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s tears bleed through the thin fabric of his collar, and he held the angel even closer, shushing and petting him simultaneously. He gathered him as close as he could and kissed his temple, letting Aziraphale burrow against his neck. 

“ _ Shhhhh _ , I know you are, I know,” he soothed, feeling his heart flutter sorrowfully for the angel in his arms. “You have every right to be scared. Shit,  _ I’m _ scared too - for you. But it’ll be okay. It will, I promise. I won’t let  _ anything _ happen to you. I won’t, you hear me?” 

Crowley twisted his head to look down at the sobbing angel, hoping for a nod or any sort of recognition from his distraught counterpart. Still, Aziraphale remained hidden within the curve of his neck, shaking and sputtering as sobs wracked his body. 

The demon then pulled away despite the angel’s muffled protests, and held Aziraphale at arms length. His hands went up to cup those beautifully plump cheeks once more, forcing Aziraphale to meet his gaze. 

“Look at me, angel,” Crowley demanded, stroking his dampened cheekbones. “Look at me.” 

Aziraphale complied, red rimmed eyes meeting gold as he tried to swallow another wave of freshly brewed anguish. Crowley would have kissed those eyes if it meant that he could keep the tears from falling, but he wasn’t blessed with such miracles. 

“I  _ promise _ you, we’ll figure this out. One way or another, we will. Okay?” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, face scrunching as his emotions tore through him like a cannonball. He felt Crowley hold him tighter, offering him the anchor he so desperately needed, and he gasped wetly, drawing in a deep shaky breath. 

“I need to know you heard me, Zira,” Crowley’s voice pierced through his misery, prodding the angel affectionately. “We’re in this together, alright? I’m not going to leave you. I’ll fix this... _ we’ll _ fix this. And if we can’t, I’ll make sure nothing so much as  _ looks _ at you the wrong way, alright?” 

And he meant it. Aziraphale knew he meant it. The demon - _ his  _ demon would probably burn every book that was so bold as to give him a paper cut, or trash any entrée that attempted to scald his tongue. The thought caused him to chuckle despite his tears, and he nodded against the demon’s gentle hold. 

Crowley took this as a good sign and brought the angel back against his chest, cradling him. He relished the warm breath that tickled his neck as Aziraphale’s sobs slowly began to dissolve, and Crowley stroked his back and head, running his fingers from the base of the angel’s crown down the curve of his spine repetitively. He held him as close as his possibly could, and even as the angel’s shoulders slumped with fatigue, Crowley’s grip never waned. 

Even as Aziraphale began to settle against him, his tears reduced to a light flow, Crowley knew this was only the beginning. He could feel every twitch and tremor beneath his grip, and the demon could only rock him gently and shush him whenever the remnants of heartbreak and fear caused Aziraphale’s breath to sputter. He kissed him again, lips feathery light against the angel’s temple. 

This was going to be a long, long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sorry for the long wait. I've been so busy with work and life. Two of the paralegals I work with quit, so I have been taking on extra hours to keep the firm running. It has been a mess. Anyway, here is a chapter for you! Enjoy the fluff. :) 
> 
> Also, I wanted to get some opinions. Where would you, the readers, like for this story to go? Would you like to see Crowley and Aziraphale getting more physical/romantic? Or do you prefer the platonic relationship with sexual tension? I have ideas myself, but I want to see what you all prefer!
> 
> Hit me up anytime!   
**Discord-** Cayran8511  
**Tumblr-** cayranwilde 


	6. Comforting Touches

Somehow, though Aziraphale couldn’t recall how, Crowley had managed to maneuver him up the back staircase and into what the angel considered his “flat.” His home was nothing like Crowley’s. Crowley was all sleek lines and minimalism, while Aziraphale’s home was outdated, hardly used, and cluttered. They were polar opposites of each other in every sense of the word; still, their differences seemed to attract the other. Crowley was the moth to Aziraphale’s metaphorical flame, and Aziraphale was equally as drawn to the demon -  _ his _ demon. 

Crowley had cocooned Aziraphale in a mess of blankets and miracled away the fine layer of dust that coated the angel’s bed before sitting Aziraphale down on it with a gentle shove. The angel laid back without any protest and sighed contently as the warmth enveloped him. He was void of energy. 

The demon carefully removed Aziraphale’s shoes and placed a softer shirt over his head, one that would be more comfortable lounging in than his typical dress attire. Crowley had honestly been surprised to find that Aziraphale had clothes other than what he wore regularly - the angel wasn’t one to diverge from his habitual apparel, after all. He was a creature of habit and routine. It is why it took him so long to update to the latest fashion or technology. Crowley pretended that it annoyed him; however, truthfully, it was one of Aziraphale’s more appealing traits. At least, Crowley found it to be so. 

Though, Crowley thought that anything the angel did was sickeningly cute. Crowley didn’t know whether to be annoyed or utterly and completely smitten. He was leaning towards the latter…

Once satisfied with the angel’s “comfy” attire, he motioned for Aziraphale to lay back and tucked the comforter around him. 

“Don’t go…” Aziraphale said, reaching out to grab hold of the demon’s wrist. 

Crowley paused, yellow eyes blinking down at the angel. 

“I mean,” the angel began, wetting his lips and looking sheepishly to the left, “I don’t really want to be alone right now.” 

“You won’t be alone, angel,” Crowley said, his voice soft. “I’ll just be down the stairs. I’m not leaving the shop. You need to sleep.” 

“Yes but, could you stay here, with me? In this room?” It was a hard request for Aziraphale to make - he shouldn’t need Crowley at all. But here he was, fingers warm around the demon’s wrist, pleading for him to  _ stay. _ How all of heaven’s hosts would laugh at him if they knew. 

But the fact of the matter was that he  _ did  _ need Crowley. He had  _ always _ needed Crowley. It was unfortunate that it had taken him six thousand years, a near-Apocalypse and near-death experience to mentally come to terms with it, but here they were. He was splayed open like a worn book, waiting to be read or tossed to the side. 

Crowley worked his jaw, teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek. Aziraphale could tell he was mentally debating with himself, swirling Aziraphale’s request around in his brain, but the demon sighed resolutely and nodded. 

He shuffled to the other side of the bed, timidly sitting down. He rid himself of his shoes and miracled himself into something more comfortable before turning down the sheets and crawling into the bed beside the angel. Once settled under the blankets, he cast a swift glance towards the celestial nestled beside him before his eyes found a sudden interest in the ceiling. 

Crowley exhaled. “So…”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, honestly,” Aziraphale interrupted, back to Crowley. “Physically I’m tired, but I don’t think I can shut my brain down.” That, and the angel wasn’t used to sleeping. 

“Do you want to talk about it some more?” The demon didn’t look at him, but his eyebrows rose with the question. He folded his hands behind his head, the comforter nearly covering his bare chest. 

Aziraphale huffed, shifting so that he laid on his back. He folded his hands together across his chest, careful to not add any unnecessary pressure to his injured breastbone. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what else there is to say,” he replied. “I’m just…” the words got lost on his lips, and the angel sighed in defeat. 

He didn’t need to finish. Crowley knew. Crowley understood. He felt the same. There were no words to really describe his anger and frustration with the situation. Of course his anger and frustration wasn’t directed to the Aziraphale himself, just with the absolute idiocracy of it all. It shouldn’t have happened -  _ none _ of it should have happened. But Crowley  _ had _ to come to terms with the fact that it had. He and Aziraphale had to deal with it now. There was no way around it. 

He felt the bed shift beside him and looked over to find watery blue eyes staring at him. 

“I’m sorry about this all, dear boy. I wish…” his voice broke and his eyes closed to block the onslaught of tears. 

Crowley tutted and drew the angel to him, shushing him. 

Aziraphale immediately folded into him. He didn’t need much guidance to find solace in the crook of the demon’s neck, his hands curled up against the tan skin of Crowley’s chest and he fought to control his emotions. 

“I wish there was a way to fix this…” he mumbled sorrowfully, listening to Crowley’s soft breathing. 

“Me too, angel. Me too.” Crowley stroked the angel’s back, continuing to shush him between words. “But I meant it when I said we’d figure this out. Even if we can’t fix it, we’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.” 

Aziraphale nodded and sniffed, drawing in a shaky breath. He worked to control himself and his emotions. He had already covered Crowley in enough tears and snot as it was. In fact, he probably ruined the demon’s shirt. Granted, Crowley would probably just miracle a replacement, but it was the principal of it. 

“Thank you, dear,” the angel whispered against the column of his neck, nuzzling close enough to take comfort in the coolness of Crowley’s skin. It was such a contrast to his own. Aziraphale radiated heat - all angels did. Crowley, not only being a demon but a serpent as well was cold blooded. It was why Crowley hated the winter, but basked happily in the warmer months. 

Unconsciously, as the demon’s arms tightened around his plush waist, Aziraphale’s lips pressed against Crowley’s jaw, inhaling his spicy scent. As chaste as the kiss was, Crowley went rigid, amber eyes widening and pupils dilating. He pulled away only to peer down into the angel’s face. 

“Angel?”

“Oh heavens...I’m...Crowley, I’m sorry…” Aziraphale stuttered, his cheeks turning a bright pink. “I don’t know what came over me…”

But really, he did. The action may have been unconscious, but every unconscious action was fueled by feelings, whether they were repressed or not. 

The angel clung to Crowley, desperate to keep him close. He was afraid Crowley would pull away in disgust. 

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he begged, eyes pleading. 

“I’m not angry, I’m just…” Crowley paused, eyes searching the angel’s. The kiss still lingered on his skin- a bit of warmth against his chilled flesh. “I just didn’t expect it.” 

Aziraphale nodded, eyes downcast and looking absolutely mortified. 

“Not that it was bad!” Crowley quickly added, trying to reassure the already emotionally distraught angel. He smoothed a hand down Aziraphale’s arm and smiled, scooting down so that they were nose to nose. 

“In fact, if you want the  _ honest _ truth, I quite liked it.” 

Aziraphale blinked, his breath catching in his throat. 

“You did?” He was breathless - unsure of himself. He had expected Crowley to react differently. Maybe laugh at him, maybe shove him away. But that wouldn’t have been right. Crowley wasn’t  _ cruel. _ Still, he had already settled on rejection. He hadn’t expected Crowley to like it, or openly admit to liking it, but then again, Crowley always surprised him. 

The demon nodded, shifting so that they were only a breath apart. 

“I did.” 

Aziraphale gulped, eyes suddenly finding Crowley’s lips interesting. He observed the careless curve of his smile, the pristine fangs behind his flushed lips, and every line caused by the spread of his grin. The angel swallowed again, one hundred percent positive that it was a sin to find the smile of a demon absolutely infatuating, but here he was. He couldn’t look away. 

Crowley’s nose brushed against his, nuzzling as spindly fingers curved around his cheek. 

“Angel, you alright?” He asked, his lips teasing closely to the angel’s own. 

He nodded, blue eyes breaking from the lips to glance timidly into golden ones. 

“Yes...I, um. I…” 

He was flustered. Crowley could tell. Aziraphale was sickeningly cute when he was flustered, and the demon’s smile spread at the thought that it was possibly because the angel wanted  _ him _ . They had never, not once, crossed the boundary that separated friends from lovers. Heck, it was only months ago that they had come to terms with openly admitted that they were each other’s best friend. But as their bodies remained close, eyes meeting and lips only centimeters apart, Crowley understood  _ exactly _ was Aziraphale failed to say. 

The demon shushed him, pushing loose strands of curly white hair behind the angel’s ear, stroking his fingers around the lobe affectionately. He wet his lips, eyebrows raising questionably. 

“May I?” 

Crowley didn’t need to explain - Aziraphale knew. The angel managed a nod, his heart thudding wildly against his chest. With a sharp inhale, Crowley closed the short gap between them and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s. 

Initially, the kiss was stiff. It was to be expected by two celestial beings with vague ideas and little experience in the ways of human affection. But, gradually, the demon moved his lips against the angels, letting his forked tongue slip out to take a taste. Aziraphale moaned, his mouth opening to reciprocate, their tongues moving in a slow fluid dance. 

Aziraphale hummed in appreciation as Crowley’s hands pulled him closer, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

The kiss turned sloppy and desperate, teeth clashing and hands groping every in of exposed flesh. Crowley’s lips shifted to nibble at the angel’s jaw and leave a trail of kisses down his throat, making sure each visible bruise was given proper reverence as he worshiped at the altar of Aziraphale’s body. The angel moaned again, his breath short and quick as heat radiated from him in waves. 

He groped at Crowley, fingers digging into the demon’s shoulders for support. He felt Crowley grind his hips against the plush of his thigh and Aziraphale gasped, feeling his own effort aching and desperate. 

Crowley’s lips worked downwards, his tongue flicking out to taste the angel’s skin and teeth lightly grazing against the pale flesh. He sucked at Aziraphale’s collar bone, his fingers tugging at the angel’s white hair to pull his head back with an animalistic growl. He wanted to claim every inch of the principality - to lick and taste every bit of him. The need was overwhelming. 

Had he known that Aziraphale tasted vaguely of hot chocolate, he would have devoured him ages ago - or at least attempted to. The angel’s scent was intoxicating enough, but with the added sense of taste, Crowley found himself absolutely wrecked. 

Aziraphale’s hands moved to Crowley’s skull, pulling at his fiery red hair and kneading his fingers through the red tresses as he tried to suppress a litany of moans. He had never been touched like this. Humans had tried, but Aziraphale had never given into any of their advances. There had only ever been Crowley. He had been the demon’s long before he ever acknowledged their friendship, and now as he braced himself against Crowley’s long, sinewy body, he’d never be anyone  _ but _ his. 

“ _ Crowley _ ,” he groaned, neck arching under the procession of kisses. “Oh, Crowley…” 

Crowley hummed in appreciation - the sound of his name practically  _ moaned _ from the angel’s lips caused a shiver to run down his spine. One hand moved downwards and he fingered at the growing bulge in between Aziraphale’s legs, eliciting a sharp cry of ecstasy from him. It was music to his ears and he smiled between kisses, stroking and petting him as the angel panted against his lips. 

“Oh  _ God _ , oh….” 

“Shhhh,” Crowley placed a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s swollen lips. “Don’t bring her into this.” He nipped at the angel’s lower lip, fingers moving past the band of Aziraphale’s trousers. 

Crowley’s fingers curled delicately around the angel’s swollen member, and Aziraphale buckled with a strangled gasp. Stars danced across his eyes, and he instinctively curled his arms around his mid-section with a wince. 

“Shit! I’m sorry...oh, I’m so  _ so _ sorry!” Crowley jerked back immediately, pulling his hands away from Aziraphale and hovering like a mother hen. “Are you okay?” Worry distressed his lovely face, and Aziraphale immediately brought his hand up to smooth away some of those lines with a small smile. 

“Yes, I’m fine, dear. Still a bit sore, if you want to know the truth.” 

Crowley nodded with a grimace. “I’m sorry, angel. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Done what?” The angel tilted his head questionably, blue eyes wide and trusting. 

“Touch you...like that. I should’ve asked. I shouldn’t have-”

Perfectly manicured nails touched the demon’s lips, shushing him. He raked his free hand through Crowley’s hair, pulling him down with a gentle tug. 

“Don’t apologize for that, my love,” the phrase  _ my love _ causing Crowley to immediately fold into his embrace. “If I didn’t  _ want _ it, I would have said so.” 

Crowley knew that to be true. Though, he was sure he would have recognized Aziraphale’s discomfort far before the angel voiced it. He had always been able to sense his distress - it was how he kept track of him. Spider-Man had “spidey senses” and Crowley had “Aziraphale isn’t happy senses.” And Aziraphale had  _ not _ been distressed. Nevertheless, he still shouldn’t have assumed. 

“But you’re okay though? Your ribs? Neck?” His golden eyes skimmed the bruises on the angel’s neck as his head snuggled into the warmth of Aziraphale’s shoulder. His eyes bled with concern. 

“Oh yes. Perfectly,” he smiled, his thumb brushing soft strokes against Crowley’s boney shoulder. “Though I must say I am rather disappointed we can’t, you know... _ continue _ .” 

“Who said we can’t?” Crowley smirked devilishly and tilted his neck so that his lips could easily nibble sweet kisses along Aziraphale’s jawline. One hand carefully gripped the angel’s chin to hold him in place as he littered his face with soft, delectable kisses. Aziraphale’s smile spread as he melted into the demon’s touch, humming contently as Crowley’s lips finally found his. 

Crowley may not be able to touch and pleasure Aziraphale in  _ all _ the ways that he wanted at that very moment, but he’d gladly kiss the angel silly until the sun rose. He wanted those lips swollen and bruised and marked by him - only him. Though, despite Crowley’s  _ whine _ , Aziraphale broke the kiss and held Crowley’s face steady between his plush hands. 

“We can’t get too carried away, love.”

“I know, angel” the demon replied, leaning forward to steal another quick kiss. “We’ll be careful. Until you’re all healed up, we’ll take it slow.” He smiled and caressed the angel’s cheek with his thumb. 

“Let me take care of you. I  _ want _ to take care of you.” And Aziraphale knew Crowley meant it. Crowley had already done so much to tend to him so far, and he had no doubt that he’d go out of his way to make him comfortable and happy - whatever that entailed. Crowley had  _ always  _ been considerate of him. Even when they were on opposite sides, the demon had never _ ever  _ acted cruely towards him, and truthfully, treated him with more kindness than Aziraphale -  _ an angel _ \- had given him. Then, he hadn’t realized that he had been cruel, but now, with Crowley lavishing him with kisses and love, he understood. 

The thought made Aziraphale’s stomach churn uncomfortably. Crowley deserved everything and more. Aziraphale never wanted to be the cause of his unhappiness again, though now wasn’t the time or place to bring their past issues to light. Not when everything was oh-so-perfect. And it was  _ perfect.  _

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed softly, eyes closing as he wrapped his arms around Crowley, keeping him close. “Yes...take care of me, dear.” 

He’d let him, and when his bones mended and his bruises faded, he’d make sure he took care of Crowley. He’d give him  _ everything _ , make up for  _ everything _ , and together, they’d figure this out. 

_ Together.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait. I've had some serious writer's block, and have had a lot of things going on in my personal life. I know this chapter is shorter _(don't kill me) _, but I hope to make it up to you all in the future. Still, enjoy some fluff, and to all my fellow Americans, have a happy Thanksgiving! 
> 
> **Discord** \- Cayran#8511  
**Tumblr** \- cayranwilde 
> 
> Much love to you all! :)


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